Sleep No More
Page 62

Even the fact that I’ve discovered Sierra’s secret, my anger at her for not telling me, not warning me, can’t overpower the fact that people in this town are dead because of me.
“You switched places with her, didn’t you?”
I nod again and now tears are running down my face and I feel like I’m about two inches tall.
“And what did you expect to accomplish? Getting yourself killed?”
“I called the cops before I left,” I burst out.
“And if they had arrived two minutes later? You’d have been dead. And then what?”
I bury my face in my hands and hear Sierra sigh, and then feel the dip of her weight on the end of my bed. “Charlotte, I know how hard it is to do nothing. But you need to understand that what you did tonight was wrong, even though the killer was caught.”
“Like you wouldn’t have done the same thing when you were my age,” I snap back.
“Why didn’t you come to me when you were having problems?” she asks softly.
“Maybe because you’ve been lying to me my entire life!” I explode in a sharp whisper. “You expect me to be this perfect Oracle; you tell me I can do it, that I’m strong enough. But you did all sorts of things that you won’t let me do.”
Her face is absolutely still now, though her eyes dance with fear. “Who have you been talking to?” she whispers.
It’s time. Now that Smith is behind bars, it’s time to come clean. I’m surprised by how much I want to tell her, consequences be damned. I open my mouth, but the words get stuck in my throat. I suddenly don’t want to tell her. Don’t want her to know anything else about Smith.
No! That’s not what I want! But something . . . something is telling my brain that it is what it wants. I’m so tired and can’t even think straight anymore.
“Charlotte, this isn’t funny. You have no idea what’s at stake here.” Sierra grabs my shoulders, gripping them so hard they hurt. I don’t think she’s even aware that she’s doing it. “Has a man been talking to you? You have to tell me!”
“No,” I say, the lie bursting from me against my own will. “I . . . I . . .” The half-truth forms without thought. “I went through your room while you were gone.”
Her entire body slumps in relief. “My stupid journals,” she says under her breath. She shakes her head back and forth a few times, then sits up straight. “We can discuss this tomorrow,” she says, her voice weak. “After we’ve both gotten a little sleep.”
I’m silent, even though I’m desperate to say something. I don’t know why my mouth won’t form the words. But I’m suddenly so tired. So very, very tired. My eyes are closing on their own.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” Sierra says, then slips out the door.
The moment before she disappears from view, a dark stain blooms on her back and maroon-dark blood starts trickling down between her shoulder blades, staining her pink shirt. With a gasp I throw the covers back and run to the door and pull it open.
But all I see is my aunt’s back—whole and unscathed—traversing the final few steps to her room where she closes the door behind her.
The sound of the lock sliding into place fills the entire silent hallway.
THIRTY
The Feds pound on our door at eight the next morning. It’s utter hell as they ask the same questions over and over, in slightly different words, and all I can do is repeat again and again, “I don’t remember anything.”
They don’t need me, I tell myself. Don’t need my testimony. The forensic evidence will link Smith—whose real name I imagine I’ll find out soon—to the crimes and one teenage girl’s shaky testimony probably won’t even be necessary. But I still hate lying.
It’s noon before they leave us alone and Mom has sat in on every session, so she seems to be out of questions for me, too. Sierra hovers, but she’s silent. I want to talk to her, but now she’s the one avoiding me—stepping away whenever I try to approach her. Finally she just leaves the house entirely.
Tonight. I’ll tell her tonight. I’ll try. I must have just been too scared last night. Too tired. Too keyed up. Tonight we’ll talk. For sure.
We obviously had to cancel our travel plans so I have yet another endless afternoon stretching out before me. I’m contemplating going back to bed, crying myself to sleep, and taking a long nap, when my phone pings and my heart races to see a text from Linden.
Think your mom will let you come over now?
He’s my hero.
But what will I tell him? Part of me—the biggest part—doesn’t care. I just want to be with him. I’ll figure it out later.
It takes a bit of pleading to convince her, but finally my mom decides I deserve a few hours out . . . as long as I’m back before the sun even thinks about setting. Apparently it will take some time for the paranoia to wear off.
I stop in the front entryway and my stomach sinks when I realize Michelle still has my coat. And the only one I have is hers. But the need to see Linden overcomes any sense of guilt or hesitation and I dig the beautiful coat out from under my bed where I hid it last night and head out the door. It feels strange to be free again. To go somewhere, anywhere, without an adult hovering. I did this; I made it happen.
I’m not far from my house when I feel the tingling start in my temples. Instinct kicks in and I pull over to the side of the road. But in the mere ten seconds I have to make the decision, I sit paralyzed by indecision. Do I go back to how my life used to be? Fight the vision? Follow my aunt’s counsel? The Sisters’ rules?